


Underground Afterparty

by santamonicayachtclub



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santamonicayachtclub/pseuds/santamonicayachtclub
Summary: Just two bros broing out during their first tour.





	Underground Afterparty

Touring is like tearing through the open fields of Buies Creek, but on a much grander scale.

Feet pounding earth, laying the long, long brush under them time after time. Up to his shoulders, green and thin and whipping in the wind, against him; the same wind carding through his hair. Feet pounding; heart following the same rhythm. Again, again, again. Arms getting snap-licked by plants, knees weak, muscles burning.

The two of them have been eating up the country one stage at a time and the tour is barely past the halfway point.

Link has been meticulously keeping track of their flights and reservations and Rhett’s glad for it. He barely remembers what state they’re in, just that the hotel’s shower is incredible enough to spawn its own religion.

Even better, he gets it all to himself for as long as he wants.

They’ve been booking adjoining rooms, even though only one of them actually gets slept in. Not having to share a bathroom is one luxury they’ve happily embraced this far down the line. No weird scheduling their routines around each other, no jostling to share the same space in the morning. Best of all, Rhett can take as much time he likes and then wander next door whenever he feels like it.

By the time he emerges from his mini spa session, wrapped in a cloudlike hotel bathrobe and condensation beaded in his beard, there’s a good chance Link has already passed out for the night.

He’s not too far off the mark. When Rhett ambles through the connecting door, he finds Link flat on his back in his Darth Vader pajama pants, looking like he’s trying to melt into the mattress.

“You awake?”

Link doesn’t move. “Nope.”

Rhett perches on the edge of the bed, unperturbed. “Wanna mess around anyway?”

Link’s eyes slide open, the curve of a grin tugging at his lips, and that’s all the answer he needs to give.

Rhett's mouth is on his in a heartbeat, tongue slipping inside. Link groans, body rising off the bed as well as he can, socks skidding against the blankets before he goes limp and compliant.

His hair is still damp and curling from his own shower, redolent with the sun-ripened, summery scent of his own shampoo since Link can’t abide the hotel-provided stuff. Rhett can’t resist burying his nose in the messy mop of it before he draws back, then ends up dazzled all over again by the way Link’s face lights up, nice and easy-like. A soft highlight of pink on his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners—crow's-feet, but that looks good on him too. Link looks good with no worries on him. Real good.

With Rhett draped over him, there's not much for Link to do but catch his breath and stretch out a little more. “So.” He draws the word out, quirking a smile up at Rhett. "How’re you likin’ that shower? You were in there long enough, I thought maybe you drowned."

Rhett lets one hand run down his t-shirted side, skirting the shape of Link’s hip bone where it disappears into his pajama pants. "Freakin’ magical,” he murmurs, even though it’s not really the shower he’s concentrating on.

If he settles back on his knees, it’s even easier to go about bunching that material against Link's chest again and again. Stroking and releasing it, then petting lower and starting again until it's showing a hint of bare stomach.

That makes Link hiss in a breath, head lolling back as his shirt rides up and Rhett’s fingertips slide underneath. "C’mon, man."

He cuffs Rhett lightly on the temple, fingers instantly threading through his disheveled hair, drawing him down. "Tickles,” Link protests, voice softening as Rhett slides a palm under the worn cloth of his shirt.

"Tickles?" That has Rhett's eyebrows going up, a wry smile coming over his face as he curls his fingers and wriggles them over Link's ribs.

Link yelps, like he was honestly expecting any other response, but Rhett plays dirty. Leaning his head down, his beard running against sensitive skin before he soothes it with his open mouth.

The slippery faux-satin duvet shifts under Link’s prim white no-show socks, but there’s no traction to be had whatsoever. Rhett’s hands are clamped on his hips, holding him in place, and the grate of Rhett’s beard has him choking on his own giggles while he struggles to squirm out of the way. “Stoppit!”

Now Rhett is laughing, deep and low, as he pulls his head back. " _Stop_ it," he mocks, which makes Link scowl at him--or try to, anyway. Rhett’s working away at the drawstring of Link’s pajama pants and that’s a difficult thing to scowl about if Rhett says so himself.

He tugs it loose, nice and slow. Link’s head tips back onto the pillows, baring a long pale line of throat that bobs alarmingly when he swallows. “ _Fuck_ ,” slides out of him, soft as can be, as Rhett slide his hands lower to work that Star Wars printed fabric off his hips, expose him; soft and pale in a cradle of dark, neatly trimmed hair. Just as pretty as the rest of him. Rhett dips his head as he slides back on his knees some, giving himself enough room-- tongue out, painting a random pattern over the length of his inner thigh.

" _Rhett_." Link sounds more urgent now, hands working underneath the neck of Rhett’s robe to clutch at his shoulders.

"Mmmhmm," Rhett hums in approval, and neatly sheathes his mouth over him.

Link, predictably, lets out a high-pitched yelp.

Rhett takes his time as his tongue smooths over him, relishing the way Link’s body curls into the feel of it. It doesn’t take much to have Link wailing and arching his lower body off the bed. Rhett would be grinning smugly from ear to ear right now if he didn’t have a cock in his mouth.  

Instead, he concentrates on working Link up even more--licking more fervently, tongue curling around the head, feeling Link harden up inside his mouth. His hands are still petting over Link’s hips, gentling him even has he’s holding him in place. Rhett's head dipping further as he croons around the heat of him, sucking him slow and wet, deliberately obscene.

Link can’t stay still for long, he never can. One of his hands traces a lazy path up Rhett’s nape and starts kneading the taut bands of muscle there. His legs stretch apart even farther, making room, shirt still rumpled halfway up his middle. Rhett’s nose presses into the line of hair below his navel when he breathes in deep through his nose and swallows. All the while there’s the tide-steady tense and release of Link’s body, working into the easy heat of Rhett's mouth.

Rhett still amazes himself with just how long he can draw this out, ignoring the crick in his neck and the ache in his jaw, just letting himself get lost in Link’s responsiveness, the way the soap-clean scent of him starts to mingle with the sharpness of sweat. It makes him want to stretch things out even longer, each movement slow and full of sensation. Knees digging in the blankets, bathrobe too warm on his back, and Link splayed out like a human offering underneath him.

A human offering who can’t keep quiet to save his life. “Oh _man_ , keep doin’ that, oh gosh, f--” Link breaks off as he jackknifes against him, his hands scrabbling to tug Rhett’s robe loose, tight little noises spilling from his mouth like they’re being dragged out of him.

And since he can’t let this end too soon, Rhett lets him slide from his mouth with a deliberately lewd sound.

“What the hell?” Link sputters, eyes glazed over and cheeks dashed with red.

Rhett’s way ahead of him. “Shush, I got you.”

And he does, helpfully dragging Link’s pants all the way down to his ankles, then hefting his legs up, guiding them to settle over his shoulders as he dips his head beneath the tangle of cloth. Link lets out an impatient whine and Rhett presses a searing kiss to the apex of his hip, murmurs, “There you go, sweetheart,” only half-aware he’s saying anything at all. Then, hands cupping up under Link's ass, he leans back in and swallows his cock down.

With Link’s pants tangled around his legs, he’s nestled in nice and close. Just enough for his legs to part comfortably around Rhett's head where it's ducked and working between them, those soft inner thighs squeezing his head in their own kind of embrace while Link grips at his hair.

It's good, good enough to have Link making quick little thrusts into the slickness of Rhett's mouth, but it's still not enough. His eyes water as Link’s hips jar up against him, balls brushing his chin as Link twists his way out of his shirt. He falls back with a groan right afterward, loud and needy and lost in the bright white expanse of the ceiling with no one but Rhett to hear it.

He’s so close now, steel-hard and leaking steadily across Rhett’s tongue, uttering a strangled moan when Rhett clasps his balls in a loose, warm grip. Rhett slides back with a gasp, kissing along the underside of his cock, crooning against the too-hot flesh, instinctively soothing him even though he’s only working him up even more.

Very distantly, he’s aware that he’s been grinding his own dick into the mattress. His robe is a problem, the texture of terrycloth getting in the way, so he manages to fumble the belt open without jostling Link’s legs off his shoulders.

Apparently, he takes too long.

“What the crap are you doing?” Link demands.

Rhett snorts. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were the only one allowed to get off here.”

“Nah, I’m just making sure you didn’t throw your back out.” He can somehow _hear_ the cheeky grin on Link’s face.

“Right,” Rhett huffs in amusement, eyes fluttering shut as he fists his cock for a few good, satisfying strokes. Just to edge Link a little more and take the edge off himself at the same time.

And then he pushes, rocking forward on his knees as he lifts Link enough into the air that he can get his head down there if he tilts it. Mouth open without heed, tongue out, and there it is--soft and pink and all tightened up.

Link’s breath catches, hard, and then Rhett’s mouth is on him.

Rhett doesn’t do this often, especially not in such an awkward position, but when he does he holds back absolutely nothing. His mouth seals hot and soft over the sensitive area between Link’s balls and his opening and he forgets anything else exists. He buries his face in Link’s ass, presses him open as much as he can, lapping and sucking at his taint until he can feel Link’s thighs trembling. That’s when he starts working his way lower to that tight little bud of skin, feeling it clench even tighter under his tongue. He teases at first, mouthing it gently, getting him warmed up, and then...he pauses.

Rhett's much bigger than him, and most of the time Link just treats the discrepancy in their builds as an advantage or a challenge. But now, pushed up and vulnerable, his legs in the air, it doesn’t escape Rhett that he’s got Link pinned in a pretty compromising position. Link gives a little wriggle, so beautifully futile Rhett can’t help but huff out a laugh--warm breath against the most intimate part of him--which makes Link shudder and clench, and he has a feeling...

"God, Rhett, you can’t just... _fuck.”_

There’s the beginning of a protest hitting the air, and then his name, thick with desire and heat and longing and, hell, Rhett knows he'll never get tired of hearing that. Gotta make sure, though, so he eases back and comes up for air, meeting Link’s heavy-lidded gaze.

“Gonna let me in?”

Link shivers visibly. “Dang it, man, you really--”

Rhett rubs the pad of his finger against his hole, testing the slickness his mouth left behind.

Link practically chokes on the rest of his words. “Yeah, bo, fuckin’ do it. Please?”

There’s sweat stippling his forehead, a distinct tremor in his voice.

Rhett crooks a grin at him. “Aw, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

And before Link can snipe at him for that, Rhett’s got his hands splayed over his ass, pushing him open, making him squirm as best he can while he’s practically bent in half.

Without preamble, he tenses his tongue and slides it in, as much as he can with Link crying out and tightening up all over.

He can’t stop now, no matter how much his neck, jaw, and back might ache after all this. Instead he’s parting his mouth wider, heedless of how much sensitive skin ends up scraped pink from his beard, and working his tongue in deeper, curling it, actually _moaning_ up into Link’s body. His fingers dig in, bruise-hard, on his double handful of Link’s ass, holding him up and apart.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Link breathes, like he’s just attained nirvana, and Rhett hums his agreement with another low moan that vibrates along the length of his tongue.

Link is writhing against him like a live wire, causing Rhett to tighten his hold even more, parting his cheeks a little wider as he licks flatly over that clenched, spit-glistening opening. Link yelps again and his lithe body clenches as if he’s coming already.

All because of Rhett. Rhett has reduced Link, with all his bravado and brattiness, into a whimpering mess. He’d pat himself on the back if he could spare a hand.

Link doesn’t have that problem, though, and Rhett realizes belatedly that he must be jerking himself off. He doesn’t lift his head to steal a glance, but he can picture it just as well that. One of Link’s clever hands clasped around the length of his cock, still slick from precome and from Rhett sucking him, maybe leaking onto his fingers and belly if he’s really worked up. All that with his knees practically up by his ears, Rhett’s mouth hot and lewd on the most intimate part of him, and Link chanting, "Please, oh shit, _please_ ,” with breathless desperation.

It’s no secret that Rhett likes to see how far he can push him; he’s said so before. Likes to test and tease and watch him lose it, while Link laps it all up like the wholesome little glutton for punishment he is.

He’s got Link all twisted up and licked into and jolting _hard_ when the orgasm finally hits him. Almost too fast, no time for Link to warn him or try to smother himself or do anything other than choke out a stuttering groan.

And Rhett feels every white-hot millisecond of it.

It’s like every muscle in Link’s body contracts, like he’s having some sort of fit around Rhett’s tongue. Rhett just wriggles it up inside even more when that first spasm hits, keeps tenderly mouthing at him until Link’s shaky fingers find his hair.

“‘s too much, brother, can’t--” Link involuntarily cuts himself off with another spasm. “Oh gosh, lemme down.”

“Yeah,” Rhett answers, hoarse-voiced. “Shh, I still got you.”

His lips and jaw are numb, neck cricked beyond belief, beard smeared with sweat and saliva. None of it matters a bit as he pulls back to finally ease Link’s body back down. Legs splayed, face crimson, pretty as a picture.  

Without opening his eyes, Link turns his face to nudge into the curve of Rhett's palm, exhaling heavily as Rhett’s fingers comb into his hair. Hot little hiccups of sound snagging at his every breath. His body still shifting unconsciously in a rhythm against the bed, as if he can still feel that sensation, wet and squirming between his legs.

Rhett feels his face going taut with concentration, robe parted open and his fist working over himself, brisk and ruthless.

Link snaps out of his daze enough to slit his eyes open and utter a soft groan at the sight of him. He actually tries to struggle up enough to put his mouth on him, but there's not enough room and he can't seem to make his muscles work anyway.

It’s an endearingly valiant failed effort and Rhett’s about to make some quip to that effect when one of Link’s hand catches him around the nape.

Link might not be firing on all cylinders, but he’s present enough to drag Rhett’s head down to his level. Definitely present enough to trace the line of his neck with the point of his tongue, suck an earlobe into his mouth, arch up until the head of Rhett’s cock brushes against his belly.

Just the barest hint of friction, of coarse hair and Link’s wet-gleaming stomach against his cock, and Rhett hears himself making rough-urgent sounds. Under him, Link strains to move again and actually succeeds this time--surging up and tipping them both onto their sides where he can slip a leg between Rhett's own, slip a hand around the thickness of him.

And Rhett loses himself in that, in the hot puffs of Link’s breath against his throat, Link’s mouth sucking cruelly at the join of his neck and shoulder, the dampness of his hair when Rhett clenches his other hand in it. The other is still gripped tight around his dick, working in tandem with Link to bring him over the edge. Eyes squeezed closed as he replays the mental image of Link with his legs in the air, Rhett’s head between his thighs, licking him as he trembles all over, just as he's doing now...

 _Yeah_.

Touring like dashing across a field, only it’s the whole country instead. Puddle-jumping across state lines and debauching the world, one hotel room at a time.

Satisfying as hell. There’s nothing quite like it.

Rhett thinks he dozes off for a minute, cradled against the warm expanse of Link’s chest.

Then Link is shoving at his shoulder.

“Go get some Listerine, man.”

Rhett grumbles and doesn’t move.

Another shove. “Dude. I’m gonna be asleep in like five seconds and I ain’t kissing you like this.”

“You’re mighty demanding for someone who just came his brains out.”

“No, I just don’t wanna pass out by myself. Now _go_.”

Rhett sighs and forces himself to his feet.

“Hurry up so I can aggressively spoon you,” Link adds.

“I’ll do my best,” Rhett promises, unable to hold back a smirk.

He leaves his bathrobe behind, feeling Link’s eyes on him every step of the way.

 


End file.
